


A change of key (will let you out)

by sidewinder



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Episode Related, Episode s19e13: The Undiscovered Country, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-20 11:02:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13716309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidewinder/pseuds/sidewinder
Summary: He simply knew he no longer belonged here.Perhaps he never had.





	A change of key (will let you out)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GreenPhoenix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenPhoenix/gifts).



Rafael finished his drink and contemplated if it was past time to leave, or if it would be reasonable to order another round.

On another night—on any _previous_ night—he would have stayed. He would’ve had closing arguments to compose, or notes on testimony to review in his mind if not on paper.

But there were no more cases to review. Not even his own trial. He’d been acquitted, most thankfully, and since resigned from the District Attorney’s office. He wasn’t sure why he was still here, at this sleek lower Manhattan bar primarily patronized by lawyers and clerks from said same office and the nearby courthouses.

He spied familiar faces all around him. In the past that would have been a comfort—even if most knew better than to disturb him while deep in his scotch and his thoughts. Usually there would at least be a polite nod of recognition and mutual, professional respect on eye contact; tonight, however, he was only met with discomfort and furtive glances.

The reason, of course, was obvious. He was no longer Rafael Barba, “for the people”. He was Rafael Barba, accused—if found not guilty—of second degree murder.

Of an infant. And all of them here knew it.

 _He_ knew it. Oddly enough, he didn’t care. He simply knew he no longer belonged here.

Perhaps he never had.

So he was about to close out his tab and leave when someone broke the invisible force-field surrounding him to ask, “Mr. Barba, would it be unwelcome if I offered to buy you another round?”

A tall someone, stately and handsome like some kind of old school Hollywood leading man. He was everything Rafael had once both aspired to be like and hated, knowing he would never have it so easy.

That someone didn’t wait for an answer before continuing, “Lieutenant Benson was quite insistent I talk to you, get to know you. That wasn’t possible during the trial. But now…it would mean a great deal to me, if no offense to you.”

Polite, too, damn him. And noting the curious glances they were both now receiving, Rafael decided to say _fuck it_ and indicated toward the empty stool beside him.

“Thank you,” Peter Stone said as he eased into it with an athlete’s grace.

“Not at all. You’re the one buying.” Rafael flagged over the bartender, though he let let Peter choose the scotch this time. Top shelf, naturally, but not so overpriced as to be ostentatious. Fresh glasses arrived rapidly, and Rafael raised his in an only partially mocking toast. “My compliments—on both the scotch and your performance in court. You put on a strong case.”

Peter shrugged and took a sip. “I merely did my job. The jury did theirs. That’s what matters at the end of the day.”

Rafael nodded and took his own sip. He would have loved to pry and know more about what Stone _really_ thought of the case. At the same time he was more than ready to put those recent events behind him. “I hear you’re going to be sticking around New York,” he said.

“So it seems. Suddenly there was an open position in the District Attorney’s office that Jack McCoy needed to fill.”

“And no one says no to Jack if he knows what’s good for him.”

“You did. I know he didn’t ask you—or _want_ you—to leave.”

“No. But it was necessary. And for reasons beyond what I did, it was time to move on.” It had been on his mind for some time now, and if he looked back it had started to reflect in his work, his mindset toward it.

Only a few more years to his fiftieth birthday, and still an ADA. Most his age, in this profession, in his position, would have long since moved onward—and upward. Executive ADA somewhere, if not gunning for a political office. He had aspired to that, at one time. Or an appointment as a judge, a move to private practice…

He could and had before come up with plenty of excuses for why he still found himself where he was—or _had_ been, until this week. He could blame the system for passing him over where a man like Stone would move up quickly, not just because of his name. He could insist that the work he was doing meant too much to him to move on and away from the courtroom, the front lines.

But was that truly it? Or had he been playing it “safe” instead of challenging himself?

“What are planning on doing next?” Stone asked, the question which he, too, had been pondering of late.

“I’m not sure. Take some time for myself first—and for the first time in too long. My mother deserves more of my attention than I’ve been giving her.” Lucia, who had been in court every day fretting and worrying about his fate—and then spending the rest of her time in church praying for him, or so she’d said. She was in need of a restful vacation more than even Rafael was right now. “Do you have family here in New York?”

“Now that my father’s gone, no. My sister moved away years ago…before I did.” He paused, thoughts seemingly miles away as he shook his head, gave a wistful smile. “It’s funny. I ended up in Chicago because of baseball, and to escape my father’s shadow. Now both are long behind me. I suppose that’s why I took this job for reasons beyond Jack McCoy’s urging. There’s no need, any longer, for me to stay away from this place. And maybe, finally, I can begin to understand the man I once ran away from.”

Rafael nodded, though he felt it prudent to warn, “Special Victims can be a thankless appointment. You’ll get more than your share of unwinnable cases. Far from perfect witnesses. Shades of grey so subtle you won’t be able to tell light from dark, wrong from right, after a time.”

“Then I’d better hope I’m up for the challenge.” Stone tossed down the last of his drink, motioned for the bartender for his final check. “Maybe I can bend your ear some time if need some help with those subtleties? Let me know where you land once you’ve had your time off.”

“I will,” Rafael said, and was surprised to find that he genuinely meant it.

* * *

The occasional drink between not-quite-colleagues had grown into semi-working dinners, now and then through this new year. Stone had been the one to first reach out, seeking advice on how to approach a case similar to one which Barba had won, early on in his time as SVU ADA.

And despite his assertion he needed to move on, Rafael found that hearing about the latest goings-on at the DA’s—and at Manhattan SVU—was a strange comfort.

It also helped him be glad that they were no longer _his_ problem.

He liked to think he was being a help, discussing his experiences with these New York offices compared to Chicago. At SVU there was Carisi’s legal “expertise” for Stone to now deal with ( _“for he knows just enough to make him dangerously believe himself an expert”_ ). Rollins’ tendency to be rash in action, even when her instincts proved to be dead-on. Fin’s quietness, that made it all the more important to listen to when he spoke, because he never wasted his words.

And, of course, there was Benson.

_“She misses you.”  
_

_“I’m sure she does.”_

Rafael missed her, too, in his own way. But it had always been complicated, knowing she wanted more from him than he was willing and able to give. He wondered if he had given too much in other ways to try to make up for that.

On this evening over sushi and ice cold beer, Peter complained about the eager lieutenant and a less-than-forthcoming witness. “She’s pressing me to take the case to Grand Jury, but I’m not confident the evidence is there yet. Not when the only sober eyewitness I have, to both our victim and suspected perpetrator being present at the crime scene, is reticent to come forward due to the fact that it happened at a gay sex party.” He picked at the rice in his chirashi bowl with impeccable chopstick skills. “She says not to worry, she’ll convince him to testify.”

“And you don’t think she will?”

“The man is a professional basketball player. He’s not going to come out, not under these circumstances. It’s hard enough, in that world, to contemplate _without_ a lurid scandal surrounding one’s sexuality.”

Rafael took a sip of his beer, studied his dining companion. He supposed they had become familiar enough by now to ask the question, or at least leave the door open for him to supply the answer on his own. “Are you speaking from personal experience?”

Peter looked at him, not with surprise or affront but a gentle smile. “In regards to kinky sex parties? No. But…there were a number of reasons I gave up baseball for the legal profession. Being free to live my own personal life and truths was certainly one of them.”

“And how’s that been working out for you, in New York versus to Chicago?”

It was Peter’s turn to pause for a drink, as the smile crept up to his light eyes. “I can’t say I have any complaints. Especially considering present company.”

And then it was Rafael’s turn to smile.

* * *

He pulled his collar up against the wintry chill and gazed up at the courthouse steps. It had been a year since he’d last stood here, that time to say goodbye to his old life.

Now, he waited to greet someone he’d come to miss after just one week away in D.C.

“Rafa!”

He turned at the familiar voice, though it did not belong to the person he’d been waiting for. And yet he smiled and accepted her enthusiastic embrace. “’Liv. Good to see you.”

“Good to see _you_ , my God! It’s been far too long.” She pulled away and grinned widely, beaming with delight and surprise. “Although I did see your testimony on C-SPAN last week.”

“You did?”

“Of course! You were amazing, as always. Eloquent. Powerful.”

“Let’s hope that congress will agree, then.”

“You seem to have found your next calling. And…you’re happy?”

“Yes. Yes, I am.” Happy with his new career path, providing counsel and pushing for legal change related to elder care, and right to die cases. People tended to listen to a man who had been willing to go to prison for his beliefs, so what had been a blemish on the record of an ADA had become a badge of honor for an advocate.

Happy, too, in his personal life as well. Now that he was finally able to embrace one.

“That’s great,” ’Liv said, still beaming. “Really, it is. You know, I have to appear in court this afternoon, but not for another hour. Do you want to grab lunch somewhere, or a coffee, or…?”

“I’d love to, I would, but…some other time? I’m…actually here to meet someone else for lunch.”

“Oh. Okay.” She tried to hide her obvious disappointment. He tried not to make it obvious that he noticed it. “Well, you know where to find me.”

“Ah, that I do.”

“So don’t be a stranger, okay?”

“I promise.” He watched her leave, feeling slightly guilty at blowing her off. But then he spied the person he was waiting for coming down the courthouse steps, waved and smiled.

“Hey, you made it after all,” Peter said as he drew near. He then stole a quick kiss hello, and merely being this close was enough to chase the winter chill from Rafael’s bones.

“I told you I’d try to make it for lunch as long as the train didn’t run late. Didn’t feel like waiting until this evening to see you.”

“Well you’re certainly a sight for these sore eyes after looking at that smug bastard Buchanan all morning. I’m afraid it’ll have to be a grab and go lunch, I’m due back—”

“—at one o’clock, I know.” At Peter’s curious expression, Rafael merely shrugged and slipped his arm into the crook of the other man’s and said, “We’ll just have to make the most of it.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sure the rest of the fandom will hate me for this, but I hope this little bit of "Barbone" will make for a tasty (if late) treat for you!


End file.
